at herself in the dark window as she sipped her third glass of pinot noir and wondered what the hell she would do with her life when the feds hauled Layton away in cuffs. Imagining the sight, she smirked at her reflection, even giggled a little. Take that, you lying son of a bitch.
Realizing that she'd had too much wine, she set the glass aside. She could have finished the bottle for all that it mattered. Layton had slipped out an hour ago without telling her where he was going or when he would be back. Not that she cared. The longer he was away, the less she had to pretend she still cared.
Sixteen years. Wasted. She was almost forty years old. She had devoted her life to being a corporate wife. She sat on all the appropriate community boards. The YWCA. The public library. The women's club. The community college. Schools for mentally handicapped children. She organized fund-raising events for single moms. Chaired a drive to collect toys for underprivileged kids during the holidays. Headed a literacy program for families on welfare. Her days were packed with activities that kept her in the public eye and polished to a golden sheen the images of her husband and family. Just like her mother had.
"Addy? Where are you?"
She turned from the window, surprised at the excitement in her husband's voice. Smoothing the wrinkles in the front of her blouse, she walked through the dining room and into the living room, where she stopped in mid-step and stared.
Standing beside Layton was a disheveled, exhausted teenager with messy blond hair in need of a haircut, piercing blue eyes and the same angle-cut features that age had softened on her husband. He was on his way to being as tall as Layton and wore grungy-looking blue jeans with holes in the knees, black athletic shoes that had seen better days and an incongruous "Welcome to Washington" T-shirt sporting an artist's rendition of the nation's Capitol. One wrist bore a sports watch, the other a loose bracelet woven out of black and red material. One ear was pierced, a diamond stud winking in the light.
Her sister's son took her breath away.
Layton, beaming, gave Jonah a nudge toward Addison. "Addy, this is Jonah. Jonah, your Aunt Addy."
Speechless, Addison tried to smile, feeling as if a stranger had control of her facial muscles. Dammit, too much wine. "How do you do, Jonah?"
He met her gaze briefly before his blue eyes -- so like his father's -- darted away.
"He's tired," Layton said. "He needs a good night's sleep." He slapped the boy on the shoulder, pal-like. "Don't you, kiddo?"
Jonah cast his gaze down at the floor, clearly shell-shocked. Addison looked at Layton. "How did --"
"I'll explain everything once Jonah here is settled. He's had a long day."
She studied her husband's face, alarm growing at his triumphant glow. Oh God, what have you done? Her stomach churning, she turned her attention to her nephew. "I'll show you to a guest room, Jonah --"
"His room," Layton interrupted. "It'll be his room."
Addison forced a smile. "Right." She led the teen up the stairs. "We have several guest rooms, but you can have the biggest one," she said, unable to stop herself from babbling. That damn wine. "In the morning, you'll see that it has a fantastic view of the Potomac."
She flicked on the bedroom light. The décor was all wrong for a teenage boy -- from the white down comforter to the gauzy black shears that fell to the floor. She indicated a closed door along one wall. "There's a full bathroom with clean towels and a selection of toiletries. Use whatever you want." Facing him, she clasped her trembling hands before her and tried to think of something to say. "Is that a new shirt?"
He sank onto the bed, his gaze fastened on her face. "You look like my mother."
Her chest tightened with dread. "How is she?"
He looked down at the hands tangled in his lap. "I don't know. She'll be worried."
If he thought that, then perhaps Alaina was okay. She clung to that. Considering
Realizing that she'd had too much wine, she set the glass aside. She could have finished the bottle for all that it mattered. Layton had slipped out an hour ago without telling her where he was going or when he would be back. Not that she cared. The longer he was away, the less she had to pretend she still cared.
Sixteen years. Wasted. She was almost forty years old. She had devoted her life to being a corporate wife. She sat on all the appropriate community boards. The YWCA. The public library. The women's club. The community college. Schools for mentally handicapped children. She organized fund-raising events for single moms. Chaired a drive to collect toys for underprivileged kids during the holidays. Headed a literacy program for families on welfare. Her days were packed with activities that kept her in the public eye and polished to a golden sheen the images of her husband and family. Just like her mother had.
"Addy? Where are you?"
She turned from the window, surprised at the excitement in her husband's voice. Smoothing the wrinkles in the front of her blouse, she walked through the dining room and into the living room, where she stopped in mid-step and stared.
Standing beside Layton was a disheveled, exhausted teenager with messy blond hair in need of a haircut, piercing blue eyes and the same angle-cut features that age had softened on her husband. He was on his way to being as tall as Layton and wore grungy-looking blue jeans with holes in the knees, black athletic shoes that had seen better days and an incongruous "Welcome to Washington" T-shirt sporting an artist's rendition of the nation's Capitol. One wrist bore a sports watch, the other a loose bracelet woven out of black and red material. One ear was pierced, a diamond stud winking in the light.
Her sister's son took her breath away.
Layton, beaming, gave Jonah a nudge toward Addison. "Addy, this is Jonah. Jonah, your Aunt Addy."
Speechless, Addison tried to smile, feeling as if a stranger had control of her facial muscles. Dammit, too much wine. "How do you do, Jonah?"
He met her gaze briefly before his blue eyes -- so like his father's -- darted away.
"He's tired," Layton said. "He needs a good night's sleep." He slapped the boy on the shoulder, pal-like. "Don't you, kiddo?"
Jonah cast his gaze down at the floor, clearly shell-shocked. Addison looked at Layton. "How did --"
"I'll explain everything once Jonah here is settled. He's had a long day."
She studied her husband's face, alarm growing at his triumphant glow. Oh God, what have you done? Her stomach churning, she turned her attention to her nephew. "I'll show you to a guest room, Jonah --"
"His room," Layton interrupted. "It'll be his room."
Addison forced a smile. "Right." She led the teen up the stairs. "We have several guest rooms, but you can have the biggest one," she said, unable to stop herself from babbling. That damn wine. "In the morning, you'll see that it has a fantastic view of the Potomac."
She flicked on the bedroom light. The décor was all wrong for a teenage boy -- from the white down comforter to the gauzy black shears that fell to the floor. She indicated a closed door along one wall. "There's a full bathroom with clean towels and a selection of toiletries. Use whatever you want." Facing him, she clasped her trembling hands before her and tried to think of something to say. "Is that a new shirt?"
He sank onto the bed, his gaze fastened on her face. "You look like my mother."
Her chest tightened with dread. "How is she?"
He looked down at the hands tangled in his lap. "I don't know. She'll be worried."
If he thought that, then perhaps Alaina was okay. She clung to that. Considering
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